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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23165773">Helpless</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veto_power_over_clocks/pseuds/Veto_power_over_clocks'>Veto_power_over_clocks</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Decepticon Hot Rod AU [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Transformers (IDW Generation One)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Baby in Danger, Canon-Typical Violence, Decepticon Hot Rod AU, Established Relationship, Gen, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Pour one out for the useful character tag we used to have and which is now gone, Remember when we could tag all three names together? Those were the good times</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:54:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,953</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23165773</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veto_power_over_clocks/pseuds/Veto_power_over_clocks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You can run, you can hide, you can shoot and you can burn them all, but sometimes? Sometimes survival is all about playing with the way people see you.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Drift | Deadlock/Hot Rod</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Decepticon Hot Rod AU [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1189521</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Helpless</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalSpaceDragon/gifts">MagicalSpaceDragon</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi, everyone!</p><p>If you're a new reader, welcome! This is an AU in which Hot Rod's a Decepticon. In previous fics: Hot Rod and Deadlock established an alliance of mutual protection that's disguised as an agreement in which Deadlock protects Hot Rod, and it's represented by a mark on Hot Rod's neck. They also make it look like Deadlock's interest in Hot Rod isn't very pure. Joke's on everyone, by the way, because by this point they're together and very much in love.</p><p>To old readers: hi! It's been a while. The world's messy these days. Stay inside and protect your loved ones.</p><p>Mars remains the wonderful, beautiful and amazing person that edits all these fics for me, and Squire is still a wonderful, beautiful and amazing person that encourages me with this AU.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Coming back online can be disorienting, especially when the last thing you remember is being surprised by the enemy while trying to sneak into one of their supposedly-empty bases, and even more so when you open your eyes and find out you aren’t in a cell.</p><p>There’s no doubt in his mind that this is a medibay; the room is clean and reeks of paint stripper and various cleaning products, but underneath it remains the sharp scent of energon. That’s Hot Rod's main clue that he never made it home. Not the fact that he’s been shackled down to the berth, or that Deadlock wasn’t next to him waiting for him to wake up, or the unfamiliar red and white mech that approaches him when he stirs. It’s the knowledge that Doctor would rather cut off his own leg than allow his medibay to smell like energon.</p><p>According to his internal chronometer, it’s been half a day since a bunch of Autobots shot him. According to his diagnostics, all wounds have been patched and now self-repair is busy dealing with the lingering damage.</p><p>He checks the time again. Self-repair couldn't have fixed even one of those wounds so quickly.</p><p>The mech next to him has an Autobrand on his chest and is busy checking something on a monitor. Hot Rod resists the urge to look around or down at himself; whatever it is that they’re doing to him, he won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing him afraid.</p><p>He does, however, tentatively reach for the medic’s field with his own. It recoils upon contact, but Hot Rod manages to sense concern. For what? Hot Rod is immobilized, there’s nothing he could do to the medic.</p><p>“Welcome back,” the medic says. He has a soft, warm voice that clashes with the gun on his shoulder and the restraints around Hot Rod's limbs.</p><p>Hot Rod won't reply. This is the enemy.</p><p>“You weren't hurt that badly, but for a moment there I thought you might have a torn fuel line. Those are messy.”</p><p>He speaks gently, like Hot Rod is some scared beast that needs to be coaxed into cooperation. Looking at how <em> big </em> this medic is, Hot Rod wonders if that's what he is to him.</p><p>“You were very lucky,” the medic says, sounding like he believes it. “You could have died today.”</p><p>Hot Rod makes a dismissive sound.</p><p>“Right. Because surviving to be interrogated is so good. Is this a Good Cop, Bad Cop thing? You finish here and they take me to the torture room?”</p><p>The medic's field reaches for Hot Rod, full of worry.</p><p>“Why would we do that?”</p><p>Wow, that question is so naïve that Hot Rod is tempted to believe it's genuine. He opts for giving him an unimpressed look.</p><p>“Do you think I fixed you so we could hurt you again?” The words drip astounded horror.</p><p>Horror is also the emotion that starts growing in Hot Rod’s tanks. Signs point towards this mech being honest. Signs point towards this medic truly being someone that wants to help. Where did they find him? Where has he been all this time? How is he still alive?</p><p>“Why else?” Hot Rod ask flatly.</p><p>“It’s the right thing. Prisoners are people and deserve proper medical care,” he says, clearly trying for calm and coming out slightly condescending.</p><p>There’s still a chance of this being a bad act. It has to be. Hot Rod needs it to be one.</p><p>“More like you have to be sure they’re alive long enough for you to find out what they know,” Hot Rod says, not changing his tone.</p><p>The medic shakes his head.</p><p>“I don’t want to speculate on how you treat your prisoners, but that’s not how we do things,” he says pityingly, his yellow optics soft and sad.</p><p>“Who is ‘we’?” Hot Rod asks, certain of the answer.</p><p>The medic stands a bit straighter, full of pride, and says, “The Autobots.”</p><p>His attitude only serves to make Hot Rod snort louder than he’d have liked to. To the medic's credit, he doesn’t look offended.</p><p>“We aren’t monsters,” the medic says, shaking his head.</p><p>
  <em> Tell that to Nyon. </em>
</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>Okay, he’s stuck with a naïve idiot. He can work with that.</p><p>Time to change gears.</p><p>He settles into the berth and looks around curiously.</p><p>“I'm gonna check you up, yes?” the medic says, standing close but without touching Hot Rod.</p><p>“Do I have a choice in that?” Hot Rod scoffs.</p><p>“You do, but it’s probably healthier for you if you let me take a look at you,” the medic says, an edge of exasperation that Hot Rod will definitely laugh about later.</p><p>Right now, though, it’s time for looking harmless.</p><p>He shrinks in his seat.</p><p>“Sorry,” he mutters, looking away, still trying for standoffish despite the volume of his voice and the hint of anxiousness he allows to flow through his field.</p><p>The medic stands very still and Hot Rod resists the urge to take a quick look to assess his expression.</p><p>“There’s nothing to apologize for,” the medic says softly.</p><p>Hot Rod lowers his eyes and twists his mouth, the perfect picture of anxious skepticism.</p><p>“Go ahead, then,” he says, more of a mumble than actual words.</p><p>The medic is gentle as he takes out Hot Rod’s data sharing cable. Hot Rod almost laughs at the contrast between this and Doctor's firm tug, the one he’s sure will one day send Hot Rod toppling to the ground.</p><p>“Medicine is about gossip,” Thunderbird had told him once, half-delirious from lack of recharge while Doctor forced him to lie down on a berth. “They want to know all your dirty little secrets, but they pretend it’s for your own good.” He'd laughed, then, and thrown a conspiratorial smile in Doctor's direction. Doctor had limited himself to threatening to cuff Thunderbird to the recharge slab, which had only made Thunderbird laugh harder.</p><p>‘Gossip' is what Hot Rod is gambling on today.</p><p>He sends his self-diagnostics to the medic. There’s no point in hiding information, the medic must have already gathered all he needed to know while Hot Rod was unconscious, which is precisely why Hot Rod carefully edits out the data regarding some of the flaws on his plating. He doesn’t even bother making it look like the report hasn’t been doctored, leaves the lines where an assessment of various marks should go obviously blank. Let the medic wonder and worry about the thin lines around his chest armor's seams, about his spoiler’s uneven paint job and the scar on his neck.</p><p>The medic's optics dim as he reviews the data. He frowns. Hot Rod waits.</p><p>The medic looks at him again, one of those assessing, judging looks that mean the medic is thinking about you, searching for details that might have been lost during the first check-up, coming up with theories and potential diagnoses and ranking them in order of likelihood and severity.</p><p>Hot Rod holds his gaze and lowers his head just a bit to the right, like he’s trying to hide the mark. The medic’s optics zero in on the movement.</p><p>“I'm afraid I don’t know your name,” the medic says lightly.</p><p>“It's irrelevant,” Hot Rod says curtly.</p><p>“I don’t feel comfortable not knowing what to call you. You’re my patient, after all.”</p><p>Hot Rod raises an optic ridge and the medic smiles sheepishly.</p><p>“Let’s start again?” the medic asks. “I'm Influx, Autobot medic.” He points at the badge on his chest with pride. “I’ll be in charge of you until the shift change. And you are…?”</p><p>“Irrelevant,” Hot Rod says flatly, not changing his judging expression.</p><p>“Nobody’s irrelevant,” Influx- the medic says, shaking his head and disconnecting Hot Rod's data cable from his port. “We're all fighting this war because we think what we're doing matters. If we're doing something that matters, then we matter too.”</p><p>Hot Rod in-vents deliberately.</p><p>“Lovely,” he deadpans. “Is that what Autobot propaganda tells you?”</p><p>“It’s not-"</p><p>“Blah, blah, blah. Tell it to someone that doesn’t know better.” He can’t help the smoke that mixes with his words, the memory of energon and ruin.</p><p>The medic huffs and tugs on Hot Rod’s cable to let it get pulled back into his frame.</p><p>“Humor me, then. Tell me your name because I want to know it,” the medic says, tone suspiciously even.</p><p>Hot Rod remembers to sink into himself before quietly saying his name.</p><p>“Thank you, Hot Rod,” the medic says. He’s smiling, and Hot Rod has to look away: his smile is <em> kind</em>, and Hot Rod doesn’t want to remember it after he’s freed himself and killed him.</p><p>It’s too late. The warmth is seared into his brain module.</p><p>“Like I told you, you almost died today,” Influx says lightly, “but I dealt with all those injuries. Some proper refueling and recharging, and you’ll be as good as a newbuild in no time.”</p><p>“Is that taking the torture into account?” Hot Rod mocks.</p><p>The medic sighs and keeps talking like Hot Rod hadn’t said anything.</p><p>“I have a couple hours before the shift change and nothing to do. Mind if I take a look at some of the scratches on your armor?”</p><p>It’s a good thing his hands are bound; Hot Rod isn't sure he'd have been able to stop himself from facepalming otherwise. When he gets back to Pache, he’s telling Doctor about the Autobot medic that announced the end of his shift to his prisoners.</p><p>Hot Rod tilts his head to the right, once again hiding the mark on his neck as best as possible, and gives the medic a wide-eyed look for a moment before schooling his expression back into careful disinterest and raising his head again.</p><p>“What for? That’s a waste of resources.”</p><p>“Some buffing and paint at most. Nothing that can change the course of the war.”</p><p>Thunderbird’s face flashes through Hot Rod’s mind. When he gets back, he’s asking Thunderbird what he can do with some paint and a buffer.</p><p>“There’s no need to, really,” he says, raising his right shoulder slightly and watching the medic's optics follow the movement.</p><p>“It’s no problem, I promise,” the medic says.</p><p>“There really is no reason for you to do that,” Hot Rod insists, sounding urgent enough that it should be raising the medic's alarms.</p><p>The medic frowns and lets his field reach for Hot Rod's. It’s slow and tentative, and when it finally tangles with Hot Rod's field, Hot Rod feels like he’s drowning in Influx's concern. It tugs at Hot Rod’s defenses, slips behind the shield of his anger and curls around his fear, cutting it from the rest of himself.</p><p>Hot Rod recoils, body and field trying to get as far away from the illusion of safety that Influx presents. A second later, he remembers to hide the mark on his neck with his chin.</p><p>Influx raises his hands and takes a step back, optics full of the same worry that had been so overwhelming in his field. Is there any other emotion in him?</p><p>Hot Rod thinks of Doctor going to the comms room to force Thunderbird to recharge, and pushing a cube of energon into Hot Rod's hands when he'd been too afraid to refuel, and he has to wonder if medics are capable of doing anything besides worrying.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Influx says. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”</p><p>“I'm not scared,” Hot Rod snaps.</p><p>To Influx's credit, his disbelief doesn’t show on his face. He moves away and starts toying with various tools around the medibay, rearranging them and trying to look busy, his back turned towards Hot Rod.</p><p>He’s giving him space.</p><p>Hot Rod closes his eyes and in-vents slowly. He sinks into himself as well, lowers his head, and stares at the distance, carefully ignoring Influx.</p><p>After a while, the medic pulls a chair next to Hot Rod’s berth and sits down.</p><p>“You’ll have to forgive me for asking so bluntly, but…” He lowers his voice and says, “Is there any particular reason you’re opposed to me fixing your plating?”</p><p>“What sort of reason would there be?” Hot Rod’s voice comes out just a bit high-pitched, with just a hint of anxiousness in the slight tremor he gives it.</p><p>The medic nods once and gestures vaguely at Hot Rod’s neck.</p><p>“That scar-"</p><p>“Don’t touch it!” Hot Rod pleads, body curling as much as possible, considering the restraints.</p><p>“I won’t,” Influx says soothingly. “It’s fine. I won’t touch it.”</p><p>Hot Rod looks away from Influx – <em> the medic </em>– and whispers, “Thank you.”</p><p>“Is there any reason you want to keep that scar?”</p><p>“It’s not a scar,” Hot Rod says pointedly. “It’s a- a- a…” He looks down. “A signature? That’s what you put on a contract, right?”</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, he catches the medic tensing up and forcing himself to relax.</p><p>He stays silent and waits.</p><p>“What sort of contract?” the medic asks, sounding mildly curious, like he doesn’t actually care to know.</p><p>“For protection,” Hot Rod mumbles. “It tells everyone that I’ve been claimed.”</p><p>“Claimed?”</p><p>Hot Rod shrugs as best he can.</p><p>“You know, in case someone wants to mess with me.” He lowers his head. “If they touch me, they’ll be answering to Deadlock.”</p><p>Hot Rod tilts his head just enough to be able to see the medic’s reaction. His face is neutral, but the tension in his shoulders keeps him from fooling anyone.</p><p>“Is that common among Decepticons? Those claims?”</p><p>“It is for the weaker mechs,” Hot Rod explains matter-of-factly. Resigned. Weak and aware of his own place in the hierarchy. “You find someone to protect you and…” A quick, self-deprecating smile. ”And you do something for them in exchange.”</p><p>“What sort of thing?” The medic keeps the neutral tone, like he’s not hanging onto Hot Rod’s every word.</p><p>“Depends on the mech. Some act as messengers, others are good at gathering information, others have contacts, others…” A small, barely noticeable tilt of his body to the left, enough of a suggestion for someone that’s trying to find something. “Well, there’s always something you can offer.”</p><p>There is a pause during which Hot Rod thinks he can hear the medic’s processor coming up with different ways to ask the question that must be burning his tongue.</p><p>“What did you offer Deadlock in exchange for protection?”</p><p>Hot Rod mentally apologizes to Deadlock and lowers his gaze again.</p><p>“It doesn’t matter,” he says flippantly.</p><p>Let the medic imagine what he’s implying. Here’s hoping he imagines the worst.</p><p>There’s a part of him that feels sorry for the reputation he’s giving his faction, but the rest of him reminds him that Autobots don’t think much of them anyway. If anything, he’s confirming their suspicions.</p><p>He does, however, feel bad for Deadlock. Forget mental apologies, Hot Rod's going to actually say it when he sees him.</p><p>“Hot Rod, are you safe with the Decepticons?”</p><p>The laugh he barks out isn’t fake.</p><p>“We’re at war,” he says, shaking his head. “Nobody's safe. The most you can hope for is to be alive.”</p><p>“There are degrees of safety,” the medic says, gesturing towards the medibay. “Places where you don’t need to buy protection.”</p><p>“And where is that? The Afterspark?” Hot Rod shakes his head and stares at the medic with just a hint of despair in his optics. “Listen, you think the Autobots are the best option, but I think you just don’t know enough. People are always the same, no matter what badge they wear.”</p><p>“Then why do you fight?”</p><p>
  <em> Because Nyon fell and nobody remembers it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Because Deadlock believes in the cause and he will go down fighting if I’m not there to pull him away from the battle. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Because something has to matter. Because something has to be done. Because there’s nothing else I can do. </em>
</p><p>“That’s none of your business,” Hot Rod says, looking away again.</p><p>They stay silent for a while.</p><p>“What about the other scratches on your plating?” the medic asks.</p><p>Hot Rod turns to glare at him, baring his fangs as he says, “Can you stop that? We’re not talking about this.” Then he lets his head hang. “Leave me alone.”</p><p>The medic sighs and stands up, turning his back on Hot Rod as he takes the chair back to its original place. He needs to start keeping his optics on the enemy if he wants to survive this war.</p><p>Hot Rod tests his bindings. Stasis cuffs, how can you not love them? They can resist force, but he’s yet to find some that can resist fire.</p><p>“Do you feed prisoners here or is starving us part of the torture?” he calls.</p><p>The medic turns to him quickly, smiling, the warmth like a shot to Hot Rod’s spark.</p><p>“I only have medgrade,” Influx says, quickly opening a cabinet and taking out a cube. “But, in your condition, it’s probably the best for you, so I won’t accept complaints.”</p><p>Influx is next to him in a couple of strides, careless as he brings the cube to Hot Rod's mouth to help him drink.</p><p>Hot Rod forces the fuel down his intake despite the nerves threatening to close the access to his tanks. He won’t waste even a drop of this, no matter how urgent it is to escape.</p><p>He empties the cube and waits for Influx to move away to leave the empty container. Influx's guard is down and the only thing that keeps Hot Rod from yelling at him – from asking him how he can give value his own life so little – is the knowledge that it’s either Influx or himself, and he doesn’t want to die without kissing Deadlock goodbye.</p><p>The moment the medic's back is turned on him, he redirects the energon flow to his hands and feet and creates four localized fires, quick and devastating, reducing the stasis cuffs to trash in a moment. He started moving before the flames formed on his frame, and he’s on his feet as the remains of the cuffs hit the floor.</p><p>The medic turns around quickly, and Hot Rod watches his expression as comprehension dawns on him, his optics darting between Hot Rod and the exit.</p><p>He isn’t fast enough. Hot Rod tackles him to the floor and immobilizes him, ripping the gun off the medic's shoulder and ignoring the pained scream that he lets out.</p><p>Who put this medic here? What lies did they tell him? Can he at least find comfort in the belief that his death will serve a purpose?</p><p>Judging by how he’s trembling and keeping his optics shut, he can't. The only thing Hot Rod sees is fear.</p><p>He readies the gun and presses it to the side of Influx’s- <em> the medic </em>'s head.</p><p>How many can say they’ve killed an Autobot medic? This will get him back some of Megatron’s approval.</p><p>He only has to pull the trigger.</p><p>It’s easy. He’s done worse. He killed Windjammer. He blew up Nyon.</p><p>He’s always done what has to be done, and that’s what he’s going to do now.</p><p>He shoots.</p><p>He escapes.</p><p>He goes home.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>Doctor sighs when he sees his injuries, but checks him up without asking more than what’s strictly necessary. He also calls Deadlock.</p><p>“I figured your ‘protector’ would want to know how you’re doing,” Doctor says, the thick layer of mockery hanging from that one word telling Hot Rod exactly what Doctor thinks of the pretense.</p><p>Still, Hot Rod is thankful. He hadn’t felt ready to see Deadlock in the privacy of his room, and it’s easier to laugh and pretend everything’s alright in the medibay, resting on a medical slab with Deadlock sitting next to him. There, he can mock himself for getting caught, and tell the story of his daring escape from the Autobot base, all the people he shot on the way out and how he tricked the medic into lowering his guard.</p><p>“What sort of idiot lowers his guard around an enemy soldier?” Deadlock says, shaking his head.</p><p>It’s hard to keep his smile in place, but Hot Rod manages.</p><p>“It’s all about presentation,” he says dramatically.</p><p>At the other side of the medibay, Doctor huffs.</p><p><em> Medicine is about gossip</em>, he remembers.</p><p>“Presentation?” Deadlock asks, amused.</p><p>“See, you’re big and imposing,” Hot Rod says, playfully tapping Deadlock’s wrist. Deadlock turns his hand quickly and reaches for Hot Rod’s, a game of speed that Hot Rod isn’t in the mood for today, so it ends with Deadlock’s fingers curled around his in a loose hold, “so you can’t hope to try to pretend, but me? I can avoid a lot of fights just by making myself look small.”</p><p>“Small? Hot Rod, you reach my chest. No matter how you look at it, that’s medium-size,” Deadlock says, his condescending words becoming meaningless under his teasing tone and smile, an encouragement for Hot Rod to tell him more.</p><p>Hot Rod wants to kiss him for that, but he settles for squeezing his hand.</p><p>Doctor huffs again.</p><p>“It’s not about how tall you are,” Hot Rod says, shaking his head. “It’s about how tall the others <em> think </em> you are.”</p><p>Deadlock gestures for him to continue.</p><p>Hot Rod squeezes his hand again and lets go of him.</p><p>“Doctor!” he calls out. “Can I get up from the berth?”</p><p>“Go ahead, but no sudden movements,” Doctor says, resigned.</p><p>“Thanks!” Hot Rod jumps down from the medical slab and gestures for Deadlock to stand up from his chair. “Now pay attention to me.”</p><p>“Always,” Deadlock whispers, smirking, and Hot Rod finds himself smiling genuinely at him.</p><p>“Thanks,” he whispers back. “Okay, so, if I stand like this,” Hot Rod says at a normal volume, back straight, arms crossed in front of his chest, expression serious, “you see me at my actual height and you might underestimate me if you’re bigger than me, but that’s your mistake and not my intention. Like this,” he continues, putting his hand on his hips and smiling like he knows everything, “you think I’m smaller. Newly forged, probably without much experience. But, like this…” He leans forward until he has to tilt his head upwards to get a good look at Deadlock, gives him a wide-eyed look and presses his lips, the corners slightly downwards to give the impression that he’s upset. “Like this, I’m smaller than a minibot. So, so small. How could you suspect anything from such a small and afraid mech?” He pouts, making Deadlock laugh.</p><p>“No one would fall for that,” Deadlock says, shaking his head.</p><p>“You’d be surprised.” Hot Rod stands straight again and shrugs. “You need to play with what people expect from you.”</p><p>“And that’s what you did with that medic?”</p><p>His proud smile stays in place.</p><p>“Yeah, that’s what I did.”</p><p>Deadlock blinks and tilts his head slightly, and for a moment Hot Rod fears he let something show, but then Deadlock is reaching for the mark on Hot Rod’s neck and brushing it with his fingertips, making Hot Rod forget the world for a moment.</p><p>“I still don’t understand how they caught you,” Deadlock says gravely. “Wasn’t that base supposed to be almost empty?”</p><p>Hot Rod hasn’t had the chance to think about that since that first moment of surprise at finding himself being shot at.</p><p>“Maybe there was a change of plans?” he says, trying to sound like he doesn’t think anything of it. “I’ll talk to Thunderbird about it later. Maybe he read the message wrong.”</p><p>“Unlikely,” Doctor says from the other side of the medibay, where he’s busy cleaning up a recharge slab.</p><p>“Stick to your own conversations!” Deadlock says.</p><p>“You’re in my medibay,” Doctor says, unimpressed and almost bored. “If you want privacy, go elsewhere.”</p><p>“So I can leave?” Hot Rod asks.</p><p>“Please do.” Doctor doesn’t even look at him as he says that.</p><p>Deadlock rolls his eyes and gestures towards the door with his head.</p><p>They go to Deadlock’s habsuite and once the door has closed, hiding them from any possible witnesses, Hot Rod puts his arms around Deadlock’s neck and brings him down for a kiss, pressing his frame against Deadlock’s until he thinks he can feel Deadlock’s spark trying to reach for his own.</p><p>Deadlock puts an arm around his waist and rests his other hand on Hot Rod’s spoiler, making Hot Rod smile against Deadlock’s lips and gently pull at the lower one with his teeth.</p><p>“Hey,” Hot Rod whispers, letting go of him.</p><p>“Hi,” Deadlock murmurs, nuzzling Hot Rod’s cheek.</p><p>Hot Rod kisses him again, soft and tender, reaching for one of Deadlock’s hands and moving away from him to kiss his fingertips slowly and deliberately, an apology for almost failing to return.</p><p>It’s the wrong move. Deadlock takes his hand from Hot Rod’s hold and touches his face, tilting it upwards to get it under the light.</p><p>“I’m alright, Deadlock,” Hot Rod says, smiling in what he thinks is a reassuring manner. “That Autobot medic fixed me and Doctor took a look at me just now.”</p><p>“I know,” Deadlock says, leaning down to kiss Hot Rod’s forehead. “I still need to make sure. Earlier, you looked…” He doesn’t know what face he’s making, but Deadlock trails off when he sees it. Then Deadlock takes a step back, grabs Hot Rod’s hand to guide him to the berth and sits down next to him on it. He squeezes Hot Rod’s hand and gives him a questioning look.</p><p>“It’s nothing,” Hot Rod says, shaking his head. “I’m tired and something dumb happened there.”</p><p>“So is it nothing or is it something dumb?”</p><p>“Both?” Hot Rod says, giving him an innocent smile.</p><p>“Hot Rod…” Deadlock chastises.</p><p>Hot Rods laughs humorlessly.</p><p>“I keep thinking about that medic. He fixed me. He said… he said it was the right thing and…” He looks towards the door and around himself. Who can hear them in there? How much surveillance is the base under? Can someone know what he says in the privacy of Deadlock’s room?</p><p>Deadlock changes his hold on his hand, fingers interlacing with his, and curls over their joined hands, hiding them from view.</p><p>“W  h  a  t    i  s    i  t?” Deadlock signals, his free hand resting on the back of Hot Rod’s neck and caressing his plating.</p><p>“D  o  e  s    i  t    m  a  t  t  e  r?” he asks Deadlock. “T  h  i  s    w  a  r.    E  v  e  r  y  t  h  i  n  g    w  e'  r  e    d  o  i  n  g.    D  o  e  s    i  t    m  a  t  t  e  r?”</p><p>Deadlock’s eyes widen and he moves away from Hot Rod. The loss of contact hurts more than the lingering injuries from the day.</p><p>“What are you talking about? Are you… are you really asking me that?” He looks at Hot Rod pleadingly. “You know why-”</p><p>Hot Rod brings a finger to his lips. Deadlock closes his mouth.</p><p>“I know what we say. I know what I was told,” Hot Rod says quietly. “What I’m asking is if it matters.”</p><p>“Of course it does,” Deadlock says, with the same certainty he’s shown since Hot Rod met him.</p><p>Hot Rod lowers his gaze so Deadlock won’t see the pity in his eyes.</p><p>“Why is it so obvious?” he asks.</p><p>“What do you mean?” Deadlock says, hesitant and afraid. Hot Rod should stop. Hot Rod won’t – <em> can’t </em> – stop. Stopping would be lying, and he needs to know right now what’s in store for him and Deadlock.</p><p>“You say that ‘of course’ it matters.” He looks at Deadlock again, holds his gaze and lets his field expand, lets him feel his confusion and fear. “Does it, really? Or do we just want to believe it does, so we can feel better?”</p><p>Deadlock looks horrified. He shakes his head, his mouth slightly open like he doesn’t know what to say, his eyes searching Hot Rod’s face like he doesn’t recognize him.</p><p>Hot Rod waits while Deadlock stands up and walks around the room. He keeps his optics on the wall in front of him, not wanting to see the way Deadlock is looking at him. He doesn’t want to know yet if this is the end.</p><p>As selfish and cruel as it is, he allows his love for Deadlock to flow into his field. If there’s one thing he needs Deadlock to know, it’s that he doesn’t doubt him, that he doesn’t regret him, that he’d join the war again just to meet him.</p><p>He doesn’t notice when he starts tracing the mark on his neck, only realizes that he’s doing it when Deadlock stands in front of him and he becomes acutely aware of his own presence in the room.</p><p>Deadlock looks afraid. He tentatively reaches for Hot Rod’s hand, brushing the mark on his neck as he does so, and sits next to him again. His field expands, tangling with Hot Rod’s, and in it there’s also confusion, fear, and love, as strong as Hot Rod’s and hard to tell apart from his own.</p><p>“Tell me everything,” Deadlock whispers, his grip on Hot Rod’s hand almost painfully tight.</p><p>Hot Rod pulls at Deadlock’s fingers to get him to loosen his hold, and Deadlock lets go immediately, taking Hot Rod’s hand between his own to caress the seams and joints.</p><p>“Sorry,” Deadlock whispers.</p><p>“I get it,” Hot Rod whispers as well, his free hand cupping Deadlock’s face.</p><p>Deadlock turns his head to kiss Hot Rod’s palm, and some stupid and naïve part of Hot Rod thinks that they’re going to be alright.</p><p>He holds onto that hope as he interlaces his fingers with Deadlock’s.</p><p>“He was kind to me. The medic,” he says quietly. “He had no reason for it and he was kind to me.” He lowers his free hand to Deadlock’s chest, rests it over his spark and takes a moment to imagine Deadlock’s core reaching for him. “And how did I pay him for it? I tricked him. I hit him. I shot him.”</p><p>“You were trying to escape,” Deadlock says, the certainty in his tone betrayed by the tremor of his fingers.</p><p>“He said that nobody’s irrelevant.” Hot Rod lets his hand drop to the berth. “And I was thinking… I wanted to laugh, you know? It sounds so pretty, but we all know that it’s not true.”</p><p>“That’s why we’re fighting,” Deadlock says urgently.</p><p>“Really?” He gives Deadlock a sad smile. “N  y  o  n,” he signals. “W  h  o    i  n    t  h  i  s    b  a  s  e,    b  e  s  i  d  e  s    y  o  u    a  n  d    I,    s  t  i  l  l    t  h  i  n  k  s    a  b  o  u  t    N  y  o  n?    H  a  s    a  n  y  b  o  d  y    e  l  s  e    e  v  e  r    t  h  o  u  g  h  t    a  b  o  u  t    i  t    s  i  n  c  e    t  h  e    d  a  y    I    d  e  s  t  r  o  y  e  d    i  t?”</p><p>Deadlock tenses up.</p><p>“That’s the thing, you see? Nyon only matters because it matters to me, but when I die, nobody else will care.” He looks down at their joined hands. “J  u  s  t    a  n  o  t  h  e  r    p  o  i  n  t  l  e  s  s    m  a  s  s  a  c  r  e    i  n    t  h  e    w  a  r,    n  o  t    e  v  e  n    w  o  r  t  h    a    f  o  o  t  n  o  t  e.” He laughs. “F  r  a  g,    i  t    w  a  s  n’  t    e  v  e  n    i  m  p  o  r  t  a  n  t    f  o  r    t  h  e    w  a  r.    J  u  s  t    s  o  m  e    c  r  a  z  y    A  u  t  o  b  o  t    t  h  a  t    d  e  c  i  d  e  d    t  o    d  o    c  r  a  z  y    s  t  u  f  f     o  n    t  h  e    s  i  d  e.”</p><p>Sorrow flows through Deadlock’s field, and Hot Rod looks up to find a pained expression on his face.</p><p>“I’ll care,” Deadlock says. “If something happened to you, I’d still care about Nyon.”</p><p>Hot Rod leans forward and presses his lips to Deadlock’s, a quick, soft kiss to tell him how much he loves him for that. He drops his head to Deadlock’s shoulder and feels him put his arm around his waist.</p><p>“I had the gun to Influx’s head– that’s the medic. Influx,” he murmurs. “I had the gun to his head and I was thinking that killing him would be good for the war. That it’d put the Autobots at a disadvantage. That I’d be a hero.” He scoffs. “I was a hero for destroying Nyon, remember?”</p><p>“You hated it,” Deadlock whispers. “You still hate it.”</p><p>“There wasn’t anything heroic about it,” he pulls back his field, unwilling to let Deadlock feel his self-hate. “I only did what I had to do. And today…” He can’t say it. He doesn’t dare to say it.</p><p>Deadlock pulls him closer. His field surrounds Hot Rod: love and fear, but not a trace of confusion.</p><p>“Y  o  u    l  e  t    h  i  m    g  o,    d  i  d  n’  t    y  o  u?”</p><p>Hot Rod closes his eyes and nods.</p><p>“I    h  a  d    n  o    r  e  a  s  o  n    t  o    k  i  l  l    h  i  m.    A  l  l    h  e’  d    d  o  n  e    w  a  s    b  e    k  i  n  d    t  o    a    p  r  i  s  o  n  e  r.    T  h  e  r  e    w  a  s…” He lets go of Deadlock’s hand and puts his arms around him, desperate to disappear inside the sea of Deadlock’s feelings. “There was no point,” he whispers. “I couldn’t find a single good reason to do it. So I didn’t.”</p><p>A shot to the shoulder, one that was sure to keep him out of the medibay for a couple of days, and a warning, a request: “You need to take better care of yourself, Influx.” If he’d sounded a bit pleading, well… he doesn’t think Influx had been in any state to notice.</p><p>“Frag,” Deadlock whispers, resting his head against Hot Rod’s.</p><p>“Yeah,” Hot Rod laughs.</p><p>“This could end up badly,” Deadlock says, holding him tight.</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“Does anybody else know?”</p><p>“Only you.”</p><p>“Let’s keep it that way.”</p><p>Deadlock’s field is still only full of fear and love, and Hot Rod lets his own field tangle with his, to let him know that he’s not alone in his reckless decision of falling in love.</p><p>“I love you,” Deadlock whispers into his audial, one of his hands reaching for one of Hot Rod’s. He moves away to kiss Hot Rod’s hand, eyes closing as he does so, reverent and careful.</p><p>“Despite today?” Hot Rod asks quietly.</p><p>Deadlock smiles, sad and tender, and looks at him like he’s trying to memorize him.</p><p>“You were yourself today. How am I supposed to stop loving you because of that?”</p><p>Hot Rod smiles at him, genuinely hopeful again.</p><p>“I love you,” Hot Rod says. “I love you,” he says, kissing him. “I love you,” he says, hugging him again.</p><p>They lie down on the berth, Hot Rod curling into Deadlock’s side, and pretend to fall into recharge.</p><p>Hot Rod spends the time listening to the barely audible hum of Deadlock’s spark as it spins in place, and waits for sleep to claim him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! Kudos are always appreciated and comments are loved and cherished because they make me happy.</p><p>If you liked this fic and feel like promoting it, you can <a href="https://twitter.com/ceehagez/status/1239384545868369920">retweet</a> or <a href="https://veto-power-over-fanworks.tumblr.com/post/612711348885946368/helpless">reblog</a> the link to this!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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